The Interwined Chronicales: Paths Crossed
by HybridmakerV2
Summary: Two wars being fought, two countries in need. What fate shall befall Tamriel should another country interfere with its affairs.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note

Greetings everyone, this is both my first official fanfiction and crossover, yay.

Now for those of you who haven't played the Elder Scrolls series, or those of you not knowing the months in the game here's a list to help you out.

**Months**

Moring Star = January

Sun's Daw = February

First Seed = March

Rain's Hand = April

Second Seed = May

Midyear = June

Sun's Height = July

Lest Seed = August

Hearthfire = September

Frostfall = October

Sun's Dusk = November

Evening Star = December

Leave a comment of any kind if you like. If any errs have been made then please let me know.

Elder Scrolls: Skyrim, its elements, its characters, and some dialogue belongs to Bethesda

Fire Emblem: Awakening, its elements, its characters, and some dialogue belongs to Nintendo

OCs belong to me

Paths Crossed

Prologue

Nirn, the mortal realm, home of many races as well as serial provinces. A realm always under consent danger. From the war between man and mer of Tamriel, to the greed and fear leading men to extortion of others within the borders of joined provinces. Each land, a home to its own unique race and creature. However two things that all of Nirn have in common. That no amount of land has been untouched by dragons. And in some way all are tied to one another though out the ages.

"_Skyrim, also known as the Old Kingdom, was the first region of Tamriel settled by humans from a far off land: the hardy, brave, warlike Nords, whose descendants still occupy this rugged land."_

_-An anonymous writer lost in time._

**2****nd**** of Sun's Daw, Tamriel**

Skyrim, one of the largest country in Tamriel, a land encompassing terrain and climates. For as many highlands and tundra plains there are as much if not more mountains and deep valleys. Within the northern corner of Skyrim lays the capital of the Eastmarch Hold. The City of Kings other wises known as Windhelm, possibly the oldest city in all of Tamriel, an imposing fortress city protected by its massive stone walls. Being far in the north, the city always seem to suffer an endless winter. However it never seems to be a bother to most of the city's inhabitants.

In the center of this old city stands the oldest building. A Gothic palace served as both a home to the jarl of Windhelm, and as a head quarter of the Stormcloak Rebellion. Through the heavy doors leads to the main hall filled with both a bare banquet table and an empty throne. Despite it being known as the Palace of the Kings, most of the halls lay empty, as if abandoned. But if one were to listen closely, whispers of conversation could be overheard.

Within a fairly sized room stood two burly men. One blonde, clad in both armor and fur. The other a dull bearded man dressed in the clothing of a barbarian. A bear pelt placed over his head and shoulders as well. Each hovering on opposite sides of a table covered with a map of Skyrim of which was caked in tiny flags of red and blue.

"You must be joking of this Ulfric," The bearded man sighed, "Surely you can't be serious?" The blonde man rubbed his tried eyes, "What other choice is there before us, Galmar?" The jarl spoke, "We have been in this war for months, even with the dragonborn by our side. Those blasted Imperials have met us, force by force." The jarl glanced at the map, locking on to the few forts and the single city that have been captured by his men. Two of which had been lead by their rising lieutenants. "We can handle their best. Let what's left of their "forces" come to us. They can even have them milk-drinking elves to hold their swords for them." The man named Galmar said with a following laugh.

The tried ruler cast a glimpse at his old friend. "Surely such a battle would be welcome by any true Nord." Ulfrics features shifted from tense, to a brief look of pride, to end with a look of concern. "A battle with a heavy cost," The ruler draw in a deep breath, "We may lose many to free Skyrim, but would we have enough to protect her people." This was a concern both aged warriors shared. Though he would never be willing to outright say it, but Galmar did agree with Ulfrics decision. After all even their ancestors had formed alliances. However what truly had the aged commander nearly second guessing was their choices for allies. There were the Orcs, however their strongholds were far throughout Skyrim. Both the Argonians and the Dunmer had chosen to stay out of the affairs of this war. While the Redguards of Hammerfell are more than willing to join their cause, they would need to know if joining Ulfric and his Stormclocks would be worth the trouble.

"Where else are we to gain allies Ulfric?" Galmar asked. Now over the years both Ulfric and Galmar had heard tales of other provinces that rested across the seas. Many of which sounded more or less outlandish. Like Alcavir being home to Ape-men or Ylisse as the only land to have winged horses. Maybe just maybe.

**13****th**** February, Ylisstol **

The Halidom of Ylisse, or simply known as Ylisse to outsiders, a tranquil nation lead by a kind and peaceful ruler known as the Exalt. Unfortunately however whereas Skyrim has been in war for nearly a year. Ylisse had just entered one with their neighboring country, Plegia. Plegias ruler, Gangrel or the Mad King, a cruel and deceiving man. Having spend most of his life, and his men, to instigate a war with Ylisstol and steal its greatest treasure. Hours ago the Mad King had succeed in one of his task. In an act of not only kidnapping but also threating the life of the Exalt, Emmeryn. If she did not surrender the treasure of Ylisstol, the Fire Emblem. This action cause the Exalts brother, Chrom, to take action himself in which King Gangrel used to call to war.

As night fall, the Exalt and Ylisse's vigilante force, the Shepherds, had return to Ylisse capital city, Ylisstol. Some members of the Shepherds had rather retried to their room or rested of somewhere in Castle Ylisstol. As for the tactician of the militia, Zulu, had thought he could studying over past battle plans into the late hours of night. In less than half an hour his head was laying on the desk he was using.

Just as it had every other night Zulu's nightmare begin with Chrom and himself striding a darken hall. A stone wall lined with pillars to their right, a wall of magical energy to their lift. Out of nowhere both the prince and the tactician was nearly struck by a bolt of fire, and as they dodged the enlarge fire-ball Chrom rushed in sword drawn. Sparks flew as Chrom's strikes were blocked by electrical charges formed within the palm of their attacker. A tall, dark skinned, some-what mid aged sorcerer. Although using his might, each of Chrom's blows were either blocked or evaded by the sorcerer. While the prince and sorcerer dueled the younger man circle round back, readying a thunder spell. Just as the Zulu unleash his attack the dark skinned man teleported away. However as he reappeared, the well-trained dark mage readied another spell.

Zulu's blood run cold as he once more heard his comrade bellowed. "This is it! Our final battle! You are one of us, Zulu, and no "destiny" can change that." Oddly, unlike his past nightmares Zulu heard some type of muttering in the background.

With a wave of his hand the aged man lunched a ball of flames towards the two. Chrom Blocked it with his blade as Zulu answered back with another spell catching the man off-guard. Though he was hit with an equally powerful thunder spell he still showed no sign of pain. "Why do you resist?" The unshaken man laughed. While muttering became louder the words being used were still unknown to Zulu.

"Fus…"

The tactician proved literal covering fire, as Chrom charged in to end the battle. With a swift slash, the prince mortally wounded their foe. Coming to his friend Zulu noticed the older man opening an ancient tome. With his dying breath the sorcerer spouted with fury, "Fools! You cannot unwrite what is already written!" In his final act a dark sphere was thrown at Chrom.

"…Ro…"

Pain run though Zulu's body as the darken sphere impact with him. A burning sensation soon followed. Zulu knew all too well what the burning was. As he was once more forced to observe as his body acted on its own to kill the young prince. An act of cold blood that has haunted his fares ever since he first meet Chrom. Normally his nightmare ended with the death of his dear friend. This one however.

"…Dah!"

It was now that the now murderesses Zulu turn to face an unknown knight where the wall of magical energy once stooled. The knight wore an armor of gold giving off a faint glow. Zulu and the unknown man locked eyes. Such as Zulu had an unnatural green hair, so too did this man had unnatural colored eyes, sliver. Moments before he awake Zulu once more heard the man shout out. "FUS RO DAH!"


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 1 Swords…

_Assassination, deliberate death upon a person of great important, prompted by military, political or other motives. An act done for one's own greed, for fame and desires, or of ill intent for fools' righteousness. Beware for a poor choice may end ones' life._

**13****th**** February, Ylisse**

**Within Castle Ylisstol**

Castle Ylisstol was the home to countless generations of Ylisse's royalty, as well as temporary housing for the Shepherds. Some were tired from their journey to and from the border between Ylisstol and Plegia, while a few stayed to either unwind or improve their skill. Yet, within the sparring room, a boy in his late teens grunted as he struggled to remove his embedded lance.

"Dang nab it!" cried the messy, taupe-haired boy. He pulled and pulled till he fall back onto the floor.

"You must be stronger then you look, Donny," another man chucked. The young soldier-in-training looked up to meet eyes with an equally messy haired man, Stahl. With an offering hand, Stahl pulled Donnel up to his feet. Both men turn to see Donnel's handy work. The country youth sighed seeing his lance still in the wooden dummy.

"Well, it seems you have shown mastery over the lance," Stahl said as he freed the piece of weaponry from the practice dummy.

"Y'all could say that," a modest Donnel spoke.

Both of Stahl's hands locked to the hilt, and he placed foot to the dummies wooden gut; with all his might, he failed just the same as the Shepherds newest recruit had. With a grunt the green armored knight said, "We might need Sully to get this thing out."

"Waden't she fixin' to hit the hay?" the young lad reminded his trainer and friend.

A hint of fear washed over the normally mellow knight as he stated, "I believe its best we leave her be." He glanced over at the wooden dummy. "At least till we know she is fully rested, that is."

The farm boy nodded and made his way to the nearest weapon rack. With each practice weapon, thoughts and desire danced in Donnel's head. All his life, he believed he was destined to be a farmer, not that he would've mind. Sure, it may seem a simple life to some, or perhaps a hard one to others, but Donnel wouldn't have it any other way. He was happy and proud to help his mother and father with their work, as well as anyone else that needed a helping hand. Since he was always so focused on others, he had a great difficulty focusing on simply which arm best suited him.

Donnel wasn't as simple-minded as most people thought he was, but he admitted honestly that tomes went way over his head. He had proven his skill with a lance a few times, and even donned a full, heavy suit of honor (which was extremely uncomfortable, never to be worn again). He was fine with a bow, however nowhere near Virion's level of archery. The former villager searched throughout the wooden pieces. Few moments passed till Donnel found his eye kept returning to a sword. Picking up the wooden piece of craft, Donnel turn to Stahl.

With a gleam in his eye, Donnel asked Stahl, "Ya reckon I'll be any good with this?"

Smiling, the young knight joined his friend, he too drawing a wooden sword from the weapon rack. "Only one way to find out Donny," Stahl replied with a smirk as the two slated for the practice ring.

"It had been a mistake," the words slipped though the mage mouth as he wandered about the halls of Castle Ylisstol. Ricken, for most of his life, had either kept his nose to old tomes, or tried to act older then his true age. More often than not, however he did everything he could to redeem his family name. This ranged from becoming the court wizard to the Exalt, creating a new form of spell, or even playing the part of a hero. _Anything_ to resource his family's honor. Ironically, he hadn't considered by what means he would reach to do so.

If by becoming a court wizard, would he have to surrender a part of himself? Would this "new spell" create ill effects that would befall on to others? Saving one's life however… Ricken came to a rationalization that at times, by saving one life, another may be lost in the process. Earlier, he played a grind role in a rescue.

At the Border Pass, a noble by the name of Maribelle had tried at playing spy and found herself captured. During the rescue attempt, Maribelle had managed avoiding her capturers until she was facing a cliff. Seeing none of the others where nearby, Ricken took it upon himself to charge in to aid her. As he came closer to the noble, he spotted a wyvern rider appearing from out of nowhere. With quick-thinking, the mage unleashed an Elwind spell, the end result being the rider forcefully unsaddled from his winged beast. Ricken stood still in shock, for he only meant to stun the air-born foe.

The world seemed to be frozen, save for the falling rider and Ricken's eyes as they followed the man to the earth below. All other sounds were drowned by his screaming.

"It had been a mistake," the youth said to himself again. "…That spell was meant for the wyvern… he just happened to charge as I released it…" Being as young as he was, Ricken had trouble keeping a calm demander. Luckily for him, he was short and was well-able to hide his face under his oversized mage's hat. Yet, no amount of hiding, spell costing, nor miles could save him from knowing he had taken another life.

"Ricken there you are!" a cheery voice exclaimed. Turning, Ricken found himself face-to-face with the princess of Ylisse, Lissa. The blonde maiden gave a warming smile to the young mage. "I've been looking everywhere for you."

"R-really?" He shuddered, hearing that his voice was shaking with anxiety.

"Of course, silly," the bubbly princess said. "Marbelle and I were going to have some tea, and I was hoping maybe you'll join us."

Ricken nodded. "Sure I'll love to have some tea." With a smile, Lissa turned and began to skip merrily down the hall. Following the skipping princess, Ricken gave a small sigh as he felt disturbing thoughts clawing at his psyche.

"A cup or two sounds about right…" the sickened mage thought out loud.

**Sun's Daw 12th, Tamriel**

**Near Windhelm **

Smoke clang to the lone figure as he entered the gates of Windhelm. Though he smelled of fire, his clothing showed little to no burns, nor any scars seemed to have been added to his body. The city guards rushed to his aid, offering any assesses that he may have needed; he, however, brushed the two aside as he stated, "If you wish to assist, then tend to my steed." He pointed towards a dark, bulky stallion. Without another word, the man resumed his pace. Passing though the massive gate, the man noticed how many windows were dim, how quiet the streets were (aside for the minor footsteps of patrolling soldiers). The lone male quickly made his way through allies and pathways towards one of the houses of Windhelm, Hjerim. He started to unlock the door, only to find it had already been unlocked.

_Calder must have forgotten to lock up again_, he thought. Entering the once-empty building came a welcoming sight. Through the main room was largely open space. There were furniture placed about, such as two small wardrobes between the front door, a table to his right, and a small kitchen to his left. Yet, something was troubling. He found it odd that the last time he was home the small room, which had been barren, was now serving as a kitchen. In fact, he even heard the faint crackle of burning wood.

"Welcome home my Thane." The servant of the household called. "The kitchen has been set. I'll have food and whatever ingredients you wish by dawn." Housecarls, just as Calder as well as another, were appointed to serve and honor those viewed worthy of the title of "Thane", which were heroes or heroines who had done great deeds for jarls and their Hold.

"Excellent," the man simply voiced. With a fire glowing in the new found oven, his burned scent would be masked. "Buy as many supplies we'll need." He handed the housecarl a coin purse, nearly bursting with gold.

"A messenger came by earlier, my Thane," Calder began. "Galmar has called a meeting for all Stormcloak commanders. The meeting will be held within the Palace of the Kings, from dusk till dawn."

The young commander nodded. "Thank you, Calder. And please, call me Mahir."

With both a nod and a yawn, the housecarl began to travel up the stairs, only to pause a moment to inform Mahir of the fresh hay been placed for his bed, before heading off to his own. Carefully listening to his servant's footsteps, Mahir sat and waited.

**13th February, Ylisse**

**Outside of Castle Ylisstol**

Outside the walls stood two men, one in hooded clothing with blades lining his leather bracers. The other dressed in a robe of some kind, jewelry cling to his head.

"Castle Ylisstol…" the aged man spoke. "Are you certain there are only but a handful of guardsmen?"

"Yes, master," the assassin answered

A delighted chuckle came from the robed man as he locked his gaze to the peaceful palace. "Send in your men." The hooded man nodded, and just as he was to inform his forces, the robed man spoke once more. "And remember, I want the Emblem in my hand and Emmeryn dead where she stands. Let nothing distract you from either purpose."

"As you wish."

Deep within the tree line waited a skirmish of Plegians' dark mages and cavaliers. Among their forces was a slim amount of hired mercenaries and thieves, along with a handful of archers. One hired hand, a red-headed man going by the name of Gaius, had used his time to form a method to break into the royal treasury. Again. His thoughts were disturbed, however, by the very man that hired him. It wasn't due to how he was shouting orders about, but by his movement. Gaius watched as the bladed bracers-wearing man whispered to two other hooded men. After their quick exchange, the twins (as Gaius called them) left the group to do whatever they were told to do. The red-head hardly listened to the orders his boss gave out while he took a bite from a sweet roll.

"Alright men, get into formation," the bladed man ordered as he visited each fraction. "Sell-swords up front! Those of you with nimble fingers either join their ranks or be on standby until the archers provide an alternative means of entering. Two will be needed to rise the gates. Once the gates are open, cavaliers rush in and prevent anyone from escaping. Grimleals!" Gaius lazily eyed the few dark mages that had formed a group away from the main forces. "Do as you please."

"This is going to be the easiest job I've been on," a hulking green being said.

At first, Gaius had barely followed what the Orc was saying… that is, until he heard his following words.

"Ylisseans are too soft to be true warriors," the seemingly overconfident Orc complained.

"What are you going on about, Fang?"

The Orsimer mercenary groaned, "Oh I never get tired of hearing that name," he sarcastically stated. "We're finally getting this job over and done with, and I'll be able to return to my stronghold."

"So tell me, _Fang_. What is so important about getting this gold?" Gaius pried at the steel armored Orc.

"During my foolish youth, I wished to see the world beyond the gates of the stronghold. Once my training was completed, I left and haven't looked back since."

"And it wasn't what you thought it would be," Gaius vocally realized.

The Orc nodded as he looked over his sword, the blade seemingly crudely made; yet the red-headed thief had seen it cut though steel plate armor far easier than a knife through cloth.

"A week ago, I received a letter. My brother has became the new Chief of my formal stronghold, as well as offering me a place once more." The proud Orc slid his helmet on. "I do not wish to return with only shame. This will be my final job before I return home."

"And where do you hail from, Fang?" Gaius asked one last time.

"Skyrim, Ylissean, perhaps you should visit it one day," The Orc, Chorbash Gro-Dushnikh, left to act as a heavy forcer for the skirmish.

**Authors' notes**

**Sorry about the wait everyone. Life had me by the ropes and schooling was giving it a helping hand. So I'm sorry to say but, I'll try to post chapters as soon as I can. I just hope everyone is enjoying the fic. I wanted to post this on my birthday as a gift for you all. But I couldn't wait so here it is. In other words. I forgot to thank two awesome authors for proof reading my last chapter as well this one, big shout out to smileplases91 and DeltaV. Check out some of their fine works. **


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 2 …and daggers

**Sun's Daw 12th, Tamriel**

**Windhelm, Hjerim**

A moment became an hour as Mahir waited for the housecarl to reach the depths of slumber before making his move. The Hjerim housing was at first, built to shelter a large family. Sadly however, it had been used to hide the actions of a twisted necromancer within a secret room. Thanks to Mahir investigation, the terror of the Butcher of Windhelm came to an end.

The use of the hidden room however continued. A back room was used to store some of the old furniture. Many had fallen apart or carried sadden memories. One of which, being a wardrobe nearly as large and wide as a man. Quietly Mahir open the wardrobe to reveal it being empty. Looking over his shoulder the master of the house pressed on the back panel. By doing so a chalking sound was heard, the panel moved forward slightly then shifted into the lift of the wall.

What lay beyond the false wardrobe, nothing more than darkness till Mahir held out his left hand. Calmly the commander waving his finger as a ball of light formed with in his palm. Once in its full size the light orb shoot out of its conjurers' hand to illuminate the room. Within the room held both an alchemy and an enchanting laboratory, three shelves, along with three weapon plaques. Mahir made his way towards the arcane enchanter.

The arcane enchanter, a useful tool for mages and enchanters alike. A magical table used to place enchantments on clothing or items as well as removing enchantments, at the cost of said item. Mahir reached into his satchel drawing a glowing crystal the size of his palm, a grand soul gem. Carefully he place the gem over a flame shaped craving in the stone. Once done Mahir moved to another task, freeing an elven sword from the lowest plaques to the canter of the arcane, He begin to chant.

"With the strength of this warrior," the grand soul gem begin to hum and glow a light hue.

"I command the fallen to unleash their fury, to fuel this blade." The flame craving glowed a blue shine as Mahir vocalized. The gem shown signs of cracking. The man took pulse, within moments pieces of crystal flew about, the captured soul had broken free. However instead of making its way into the elven sword to give an unknown enchantment, the lost soul had forcefully been sucked into the crystal ball that rested on top of the arcane enchanter. Mahir waited till the room fill with a green glow (the orb of light had faded away by now).

He continued to chant. "With this warriors' might I call for the power of Masser and Secunda to set my foes ablaze, before their sight."" The glow changed to a lighter shade as his chant came to a close. The focused enchantment draw from the crystal ball to the sword. Once the newly enchanted elven sword give a faint green glow, Mahir nodded to himself admiring his work.

The deed done Mahir turn to leave. He pulsed only to place another grand soul gem on a nearby shelf. The man let lose a mournful sigh. "Rest for now Astrid." Stepping out of the hidden room, Mahir turn to close both the back panel and the wardrobe. With movement like that of a phantom, Mahir left Hjerim.

* * *

><p>Outside the city gates, the steel nerved guards, were giving the thanes' steed a wide berth. For each time any came near. They swore the stallion glare send a sense of dread their way. Almost as if being stared down by death itself.<p>

"Where would he even find such a beast?" one guard speaking out what all three thought.

"Maybe he liberated it from a Thalmor patrol?" A woman questioned more than anything else.

A young solider by the name of Erik then said. "No it must had been an award for slaying a band of bandits." The two experienced guards would had question the imposable Nord youth. However they soon stood at attraction as the owner of the fearsome steed came. Mahir quietly packed his light supple onto his horses saddle bag.

Erik spoke. "Late for a ride isn't sir."

Mahir simply nodded and stated. "I had difficulty sleeping," he then mounted the mighty beast, "perhaps a fair amount of night air is needed to clear my head." Without another word Mahir took hold of the resists, then rides off into the night.

* * *

><p><strong>13<strong>**th**** February, Ylisse**

**Courtyard, Castle Ylisstol**

Chirp cool air fill the lungs of the prince. He released a rush of warmed breath. His head filled with worry, some were of actions he had, others of actions that have yet been taken due to the ladder.

"Could we afforded to offer aid to their cause?" Chrom voiced his thoughts.

* * *

><p>Once returning to Castle Ylisstol, a meeting between Ylisses' royal family and highest ranked military was taking place. The blood spilled by the former exalt of Ylisse would drown the now weaken kingdom. A war that many had hoped to pass away with the old king, only to passed on to another. Accruing to scouts there may be a connection with Plegia and a new rising threat dubbed the Risen, undead warriors whom possess a form of knowledge never seen in average zombies. It is thought that due to the number of dark mages within Plegia, a group of powerful necromancers may had been added to their forces, all in theory at least.<p>

"Our western boarders are poorly protected." Phila, head of the Pegasus Knight Squadron, speak up. "However with Regna Ferox focuses we may be able to hold off Plegia ground units."

"What of their Wyvern Riders and Dark Mages. Even with Feroxs aid, we are out match by use of magic users." The head of the Ylisses' Paladin added. "Your flyers may stand against theirs, but a well-placed arrow or spell will drop them like stone."

As the officers and generals both concern and arguments were given across the map covered table within the rarely used war room. At the head of the said table were the royal family. Lissa despite her best effort was caught twice falling asleep during the meeting so far. Chrom watched and kept track of what everyone had to say. So too did Emmeryn but with a heavy heart.

All discussion halted by the slamming of a door. A solider could be seen gasping for air.

"My Exalt forgive me for this tardy." The solider breath out. He quickly came to Emmeryn handing her a latter. Chrom took notice of a dragon seal in a diamond like stale. Opening the latter she read out loud.

"Greeting Exalt of Ylisse. We, the Empire of Tamriel, require your assist in rooting out a foal influence among our mist. For nearly a year a rebellion has purge the lands of Skyrim. Dissipate the strength of the Imperial Legion, the rebels gain more and more to follow under their banner. Should the war take longer to end, countless innocent will be lost. Should you aid us in our time of need, we will proved your country with the finest, the Legion has to offer when the time arises.

Sign Titus Mede II"

A few of the military looked to one another. It has been some time since the Empire had connected the Halidom of Ylisse. In fact it had been years since before Emmeryn rise to the throng. The reason had mostly been lost, some say it may had been a misunderstanding with the Empire and an elven government, others believed it could had been her own fathers rage that pushed them away. Either way this may be too perfect. Small whispers could be heard among Ylisse finest. Even Lissa stayed awake to hear the reading.

Chrom was the first to voice out his thoughts. "Has Tamriel known of our affairs."

"Not to my knowledge sir." Frederick said.

"Some of our traveling merchant could had told tales of raids that have happen" An officer offered.

Small talks begin to fill the air. Some spoking of how the Legion was the mightiest force of all of Nirn. Some talk of an easy victory. Others debate that if they accepted their offer, would they join the rank of the Empire of Tamriel. Though it all, Emmeryn, didn't wish to bring their troubles to Tamriel, yet she would never forgive herself should any innocent parson die due to her inaction. She turns to her only brother.

The Exalt of Ylisse asked the prince of Ylisse. "Chrom…do you believe it wise to offer aid to Tamriel?"

"I am not sure sister, our numbers are thin as it is. If we should join their cause, then just as they will offer their finest, then we shall do the same." Chrom said.

Shortly after the meeting orders were given to restock weapons and supplies to be sent to the western boarders.

* * *

><p>Chrom sighed once more, unaware that a figure creped behind him. "Chrom?" A familiar voice called out, "What are you doing out so late?"<p>

Chrom turn to face the Shepherds' tactician, Zulu. Giving a false smile, Chrom then joked. "I could say the same of you Zulu, but knowing you it's relishing to see you out of that old room."

The green haired man nodded as he took his place by his friend. Though knowing the forgetful Plegian for only less than a mouth. Zulu had become somewhat like a brother to Chrom. Both would watch over one another whenever they could during battle. Chrom could befriend many, yet there were few he would trust with his worries.

"Zulu have you read or heard off other nations?" the young man asked

"I had touched over a few books." The tactician said. "Why?"

"Do you know of Tamriel?"

As both men spoke, from afar laying within some bushes, an onlooker watched the two with care. The onlookers' heart raced. Filled with anxiety the unknown player locked onto any movement aside from the two men. For it would be this night that a royal would fall. No, at this very moment the fate of Nirn hinged over the action or inaction of the onlooker.

* * *

><p><strong>The North Wall of Castle Ylisstol<strong>

Paki straggled to keep his eyes open. It had been hours since his shift as a night guard begin. Normally Paki wouldn't mind staying up an hour or two, however with most soldiers taking in the role of delivering arms to follow soldiers. The ones who stayed would have longer nightly roles. Covering his mouth the tried trooper yawned "I hope our replacements come soon."

His partner, Hager, half heartily acknowledgment with a quick intake of air. "Yeah, I might even sleep though morning training." Hager begin to feel the effect of sleep take over him. This fact couldn't prevent him from hearing a faint whistling. Hager looked in time to watch Paki sloping over a battlement.

If he were simply exhausted, Hager might have believed Paki just collapsed from fatigue. Years of experience say other wises. Hager raised his shield to cover from any lose arrow. Unsure if other guards were within proximity, the frightful man run to sound the alarm. All the while hearing a few more whistling followed by the creaking of stone.

One whistle ended with Hager howling in pain. He found an arrow embedded in his thigh. Before he could limp away, another arrow dug itself into his expired shoulder. As Hager fall to the floor, a man dawning both a cloth and hood around his head climb over the wall. The man loomed over the limped soldier. Hager reached for his sword just as the unknown man raised his.

* * *

><p><strong>Tamriel<strong>

**Unknown**

Mahir tighten his grip over the resists. The blizzards of Skyrim are among the most fearsome storms in Tamriel. During the night however, few Nords would not dare to face such weather. Mahir pressed on knowing tonight maybe his only change. Though a lantern hung by the saddle he dare not light it, for he did not wish to be seen.

The howling of the wind ate at his courage, yet unfazed his steed. The plumbing snow caused ice to form over his attire. His body begging for warmth, begging to rest. The Stormcloak commander had been known to go days without rest. The sound of his heavy breathing, the alarming rate of growing numbness, and his racing heart kept him awake more now than ever. For tonight a royal will fall by his hand.

* * *

><p><strong>Ylisse<strong>

**Tree lining near the walls Castle Ylisstol**

Chorbash, like the other mercenaries stood at the ready. Whereas some men talked among themselves, he stayed focus on his task. Some mercenaries were to cut down any resistance, others cause chaos within the palace. Chorbash along with few were to guide the thieves. One of whom was currently nursing on sweets.

The hired Orsimer recalled when he and Gaius met. Chorbash first thought of Gaius, as nothing more than a mare irritation. Chorbash often accusing Gaius of missing items, and the red head not calling the Orc by name. Yet he also though it strange that the sweet toothed bandit (other than calling him Fang) had yet to insult or belittle the Orc. Even what belongs that did go missing were either given back to him, or had little to no value to begin with.

One day, just before supper, Chorbash decided to confront Gaius. Seeing the vacate table save for Gaius. Once he had his bowl of stew, Chorbash sat across from Gaius.  
>Gaius glanced up at the Orc. To anyone else, it would seem that Chorbash was glaring at the thief, although the young man had nothing to fear. With a less-then-cocky smile Gaius begin. "Evening Fang."<p>

"Must you keep referring me with that title?" Chorbash groaned. Gaius continued to consume his bowl.

"Why do you call me by that thief?" The Orc questioned after a few spoon full.

Gaius kept his eye to his meal as he replied "It's nothing special, just something I do with everyone."

During his years wondering the world. Chorbash had learned a great deal of things, such as knowing when one was lying. He had many actors cross his path to a point that he could catch the smallest details. Gaius was being truthful.

"Don't worry I know your name, and no I don't think you're just a killer." The orc was taken back. Chorbash looked at the thief. "What did you say?"

"I have heard of what people say about Orcs. How you, as a whole, care for nothing more the blood and war. That you all are dim, unable to read or write."

As Gaius list off every Orc stereotype. Chorbash was about ready to pummel the red head when he was once more taken back as Gaius stated, "To be honest, you guys don't seem to be all bad," by now Gaius was done with his meal, "After all, if you did had a short temper. I would had never lived passed the first time I called you Fang."

Gaius made way to leave his used dishes in the growing pile. He paused only when Chorbash called out. "You know my name yet I don't know yours."

"It's Gaius." The red head spoke.

"It is not often an Orc is seen as more than a mare solider. It is refreshing." Chorbash worked to finish his blow. It may had been the closest thing to gratitude anyone had gotten from an Orc, so Gaius took it as it was. Shortly after that talk, the two had become fast friends.

The sell sword recovered from his memories by a dishearten Gaius. The reasoned thief appeared to be in a state of discouragement. "Something troubling you?"

"What were you told about this little "job" of ours?" Gaius spoke half eaten sweet roll in hand.

"I was told men were needed for a job, simple and easy." Chorbash explained himself. "I had to provide my own armor and weapons however."

"So you don't know who it is we're breaking into?"

"Some Ylissen nobles' home." Chorbash begin to catch what Gaius was hinting at. A handful of mercenaries along with a few skilled thieves or a master thief would do. Even so that did not explain the need of cavaliers or dark mages. Chorbash had been though many tasks, few nearly cost him his life. After all Orc were the most sought after when it came to sword hire. As well as the most pursued target on the field of battle (at least by bow).

Any other thought was dashed away by the sound of acing metal. Eyeing the walls between the gates, one can see lightly armed men scrabble towards and above the battlements. Those still grounded hurried to the groups waiting by the opening metal maws.

Grapping on to the handle of sword and shield, Chorbash glanced to his human friend. "Stay close," He warned, "and out of my way."

"Don't need to tell me twice, but regardless, you watch me back I watch yours." Gaius acknowledge. Chorbash granted in agreement. Tonight will test the Orsimer trust in a non-Orc.

**Author's notes**

**Again sorry about the late update. Please report any errors I may have missed. Thank you smilesplease91 for proof reading. **


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